After I’d read the last line of Roving Pack, I turned the page expectantly. I wanted more. I double-checked to make sure I hadn’t flipped two pages instead of one. I read the last paragraph again, then another time. I sat with it. It sat with me.
I feel a lot of empathy for Click’s situation. Being genderqueer is similar to being trans*, some of us even embrace trans as part of our identity. We often find kinship and camaraderie among trans folks. We can relate to feelings of gender dysphoria and the pain of not being seen for who we really are. However, for those of us who are gender non-binary, what we don’t have is a clear path to a well-recognized gender destination. There isn’t a sense of moving from point A to point B, because male and female are not necessarily our starting or endpoint. In following Click’s story, the day to day reality of being non-binary in a binary world is laid out in very stark terms. It isn’t just a matter of not being understood, sometimes people don’t believe you, they think you’re fooling yourself, not finding yourself. Roving Pack doesn’t shy away from some really ugly moments where the trans community is revealed as not as accepting of gender fluidity as one would hope. I’ve experienced this first hand, with trans guys assuming that genderqueer is just a temporary stop between female and male, and that eventually I’d ‘figure it out’ and get serious about transitioning. Listening in as Click works through what genderqueer means to hir, what it means to be non-binary, begins to see how much bigger gender could be and questions whether T is right for hir — it all feels so familiar. These are the same questions I’ve asked myself, with similar results.
We have great stories and blogs featuring the trans* narrative but we don’t have the same body of work for genderqueers, or for alternative, non-binary trans* stories. Reading Roving Pack made me hungry for more. I want to reach out and gather all those untold stories up in my arms and find a comfy chair. I’m also very aware that I also have a story to tell, and that no one else will tell it if I don’t. I feel not only inspired but called, called to make sure more genderqueer voices are heard, including mine.
Roving Pack is a great story, but not a pretty one. The reality of life for Click and the pack and the greater queer punk trans community was not pretty. At times I needed to put the book down, to take a break, to breathe a little. I wanted desperately to jump into the story, to pull Click aside and say, ‘Hold off, man, not this one… you deserve better” but you know that wouldn’t have worked. Not for any of us. We’ve all made choices that didn’t work out, hooked up with people and situations we regretted later, and we weren’t going to take advice from any old-fart know-it-alls. If we’re lucky, we survive our choices, learn from those experiences, and move on to make better ones.
Roving Pack is good and I predict you’ll get hooked hard in the first couple of pages. As a reader, you’re given a front row seat into a life rich with possibilities and rife with painful challenges. Page by page, you’re pulled along at a fast pace — good luck keeping track of who’s with who, and who is the exe, and which Daddy is with which boy at any given moment. Roving Pack is good because it doesn’t candy-coat, it doesn’t hold back to protect delicate sensibilities, it doesn’t gloss things over or cover up the hard times with the rosy glow of memory. This is no sweet coming of age story, this is the real shit. Sassafras Lowrey takes us right back to that raw, impulsive, embarrassing, triumphant, ever-changing time of our lives when we were busy figuring it all out — and pretty sure we’d do a better job of it than any of the old fart boring adults we saw around us. This is a story about those moments when the idealism of youth clashes with the ugly truth of life and our real selves are born.